


young, scrappy and hungry

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [19]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, M/M, Third Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: He has come to wear that 6 in the fiery palm of his hand. It’s no gunpowder burn, not like so much that he touches.





	young, scrappy and hungry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 3: Fan Soundtracks | [originally posted here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=13003589#cmt13003589)
> 
> soundtrack: Hamilton medley  
> [my shot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwlBxYyjrqM)  
> [the story of tonight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihaiRBjv9Cg)  
> [satisfied](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqL7E2ZHsVc)  
> [non-stop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHgFLIdYVUQ)  
> [alexander hamilton](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yIl1OIGzuDg)

When Chikara puts on the No. 1 jersey for the first time, they’re in his room and Nishinoya’s on the edge of his bed, his fingers digging into sheets like they might singe.  
  
In the mirror, Chikara smooths out the wrinkles, straightens the hem and stares at himself. It had been bright when they came in, and Chikara had drawn the curtains; now, there’s a sliver of dusk and a hush that creeps through the window, and in the burnished evening’s light, the flush on Chikara’s cheek seems redder, more brilliant. Nishinoya drinks in the reflection, a smile electric on his lips.  
  
_You look great._  It fizzes like soda on the tip of his tongue, the compliment, and he keeps it there for now. He has learned this much, how to let the quiet be loud for him. The sharp inhale that slips out is enough. Chikara’s gaze flicks up at the sound.  
  
From the corner of his eye, Nishinoya can see Chikara’s old jersey, hanging behind his door. How well he knows it. How it folds between his fingers, the way it smells before and after a match, sweat stains and deodorant and faintly, peach-scented softener. He has come to wear that  _6_  in the fiery palm of his hand. It’s no gunpowder burn, not like so much that he touches. The imprint it leaves is cool. Sometimes, he clenches it to his fist, and his nails leave ragged half-moon marks and the hurricane whirls, stills.  
  
At the eye of the storm, there he is.  
  
As he takes in the new number emblazoned on Chikara’s back, Nishinoya feels a smouldering in his gut: this,  _this_  is what he’s been waiting for, all this while. Chikara, not quite at peace with himself yet, perhaps, but stubborn enough to face tomorrow and the rest of the team. Chikara, slipping into place like it belonged to him all along, the destination sweeter for the journey, the leaving and returning. Nishinoya hasn’t been there always, either. Chikara brushes it off, won’t stop reminding him that his absence wasn’t  _his_  choice. The truth is, it was.  
  
He had not been calm, then. He thinks he is calmer now, and Chikara a little more bold. He thinks they are stronger for it.   
  
Chikara turns around at last, a sigh caught in his mouth. Nishinoya’s on his feet before he can let it out; he’s over by Chikara’s side in a flash and he reaches up, takes him by the collar and tips his head down.  
  
_Careful,_  Chikara laughs.  _I just ironed this jersey, you’re going to crumple it again—_  
  
His voice is soft, his eyes dancing, alight.  _Finally, finally._  Nishinoya’s grin widens.  
  
Patience, they say, is a virtue, but they are hungry now, and their satisfaction is fire within their grasp.


End file.
